


right back at the eye of the storm

by becka



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, M/M, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 07:24:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/becka/pseuds/becka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry literally appears on his doorstep with no warning the day after Nick gets back from Ibiza, shoulder bag and be-ringed fingers and that idiotic hat that Nick has wanted to tear off him all summer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	right back at the eye of the storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [estrella30](https://archiveofourown.org/users/estrella30/gifts).



> Written for Nan because she wanted Harry coming home from tour and desperately topping Nick, and that sounded like something the world needed.<33
> 
> Title from Hanson's "Already Home".

Harry literally appears on his doorstep with no warning the day after Nick gets back from Ibiza, shoulder bag and be-ringed fingers and that idiotic hat that Nick has wanted to tear off him all summer. He’s gorgeously tanned and possibly even taller than when he left, and Nick’s nose is peeling and his shoulders are swathed in aloe to keep the sunburn from getting any worse, and he feels old and paunchy and unready. But Harry just breathes out, “Hi,” and pushes him back from the door to shut it before kissing him.

Nick brushes the hat off his head and twines his fingers in Harry’s thick hair, leaning him back on the door and pulling away for a “hi” of his own.

“Missed you,” Harry says, rutting his hips forward plaintively, grasping at the waist of Nick’s denim shorts and shoving him through the open bedroom door. His biceps bulge obscenely as he tugs at Nick’s belt loops, and every inch of him is hard and smooth under Nick’s curious fingers. Harry presses little kisses to Nick’s lips, teeth snagging, but he can’t seem to hold still long enough to kiss Nick properly until Nick cups a hand around the back of his neck and makes him, sucking at Harry’s tongue and forcing a desperate moan out of him.

He’s suddenly glad he hasn’t gone to get Puppy from Aimee’s yet because the combination of frantic popstar and frantic Jack Russell would be too much to handle, and he’s got enough to concentrate on getting Harry out of his stupid plaid shirt and the vest that barely covers all of his nipples. There are new tattoos somewhere in the tangle on his arm, and Nick wants to stop to count them, add up every new thing about Harry’s body until the whole of him feels like Nick’s again. But Harry’s having none of it, pulling Nick’s t-shirt up his back, knuckles grazing his sunburn so Nick hisses.

“Sorry,” says Harry, more gentle as he tugs Nick’s arms over his head to get the shirt off entirely. “Is it only there?”

“Just along the tops of my shoulders,” says Nick. “Everything else is yours to do as you like with.”

Harry licks his lips. “Okay. Good.”

“I’ve missed you too, Harry,” Nick adds belatedly as he reaches for the button of Harry’s tight jeans. Harry’s grin lights up his whole face.

Nick’s shorts are old and worn and slide off easily as soon as Harry gets the flies undone, and before Nick can say another word, Harry’s on his knees, licking at Nick’s cock through his briefs. He fits his mouth around the head, sucking through wet cotton, and Nick’s cock strains hard against his pants. Harry makes a desperate sound and scrabbles to get them off too, leaving Nick stood naked in the middle of his bedroom. He looks down at the pink O of Harry’s mouth, opening on his cock again, further to the long golden expanse of Harry’s back as he leans forward to take Nick in. His eyelashes flutter delicately as his eyes close, and the wet heat of his mouth is glorious. It’s not that Nick hasn’t gotten head since Harry left, but no one else sucks him with the frantic need that Harry does, shoving Nick’s cock into himself until he nearly chokes, spit dribbling down his chin. Nick gathers Harry’s hair between his fingers and holds gently, not forcing, but letting Harry know he’s appreciated. And Harry moans and takes him deeper, the tight heat of his throat opening, Harry breathing through the first uneasy moment before he settles himself into a steady rhythm on Nick’s cock. He doesn’t have to sing for days, so for once he can wreck his voice like this, take Nick as deep as he can, as deep as he’s learned to.

“Want me to come in your mouth, love? I’m about to if you keep up like that.”

Harry pulls off to nod, swallowing before he whispers, “Can I fuck you after?” fingernails trailing up the back of Nick’s thighs, big hands already parting him.

“Absolutely.” Harry presses a promising finger against Nick’s hole as he sucks him back in again, taking long, deep pulls on Nick’s cock, making Nick’s hips hitch forward. His balls are already tingling, and he strokes over Harry’s curls as he comes, Harry sucking it down greedily, before he shoves Nick back onto the bed. Nick falls onto his elbows, trying to save his sunburned shoulders the worst of the impact, but when Harry crawls up over him, nuzzling in to kiss him with a mouthful of come, it’s already a lost cause. He grunts as he falls back, Harry heavy on top of him, his denim-clad legs dragging between Nick’s bare thighs.

There’s new muscle to every part of him Nick touches, sinewy strength beneath his smooth skin, and Nick traces a finger down the newly defined split of his pecs, tickling over the antenna of the idiotic butterfly. Harry hums contentedly into his mouth, pressing in closer. Nick can feel the aloe sticking to the sheets, and he doesn’t want to stop Harry, but his skin is pulling uncomfortably.

“Budge up for a sec,” he says, and uses the moment to roll onto his front. “How about like this?”

“Shit,” says Harry, spreading a hand at the small of Nick’s back and stroking gently upwards. “I totally forgot. I was just… I just want you so much.”

Nick gets up on his knees a bit, offering up his arse, and Harry presses an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his spine, before sliding his lips down the curve of Nick’s arse. He spreads Nick open with his thumbs, and the first flicker of tongue against Nick’s hole is light and teasing before Harry starts licking over him with long, wet strokes, rubbing the flat of his tongue along the full length of Nick’s arsecrack. Harry works at him relentlessly, making satisfied little noises against Nick’s hole, and if Nick hadn’t just come his dick would be aching hard, because Harry’s full on eating him out and seems to be loving every second of it. The tip of his tongue circles Nick’s arsehole before pressing inward, and Nick ducks his head to moan into the mattress as Harry opens him up, leaving him slick and sensitive. 

The sounds of Harry’s mouth, sucking, teasing, make Nick crazy, make him clench up for Harry’s tongue, make his softening dick twitch. It’s so dirty, is the thing, with Harry’s tongue fucked into his arsehole and Harry moaning in satisfaction behind him. Nothing about this is anything Nick expected. He’s all opened up when Harry rubs a finger up against his hole, feeds it into him on one slow, wet push, and Nick has way too much pride to beg to be fucked, but he can’t help the way his hips jerk back.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Harry asks. “Just like this. Now.” He’s breathless, desperate, and he sounds so young and so needy, like he has on the phone sometimes, asking Nick if he’s allowed to come.

“Proper lube, please,” Nick says. “And then, yes.” He doesn’t have to ask if Harry’s been with anyone else, if they need a condom. And it feels so good to already know, to know every time Harry has helped out one of his bandmates, and to know it hasn’t gone farther than that. Nick still feels desperately bad at relationships, but this part he likes, the steady certainty of Harry coming home to him.

Harry makes a mess of the bedside table digging for the lube, groping far into the back of the drawer and grunting in frustration.

“Well, I haven’t had anyone to use it with,” Nick points out with a carefully staged pout as Harry finally comes up with the bottle.

“And you never use it on your own?”

Nick shakes his head. “I prefer my wanks the old-fashioned way. Bit of spit, less slippery stuff to clean up.”

“But you never, like, finger yourself or anything?” He slides a lubed finger down Nick’s crack, presses into him again.

“No. I generally leave that to you, popstar.” He’s loved the noises Harry makes when he’s fucked on his own fingers, the hitch of his breath echoing across an ocean, Nick’s mobile tight against his ear to catch every sudden gasp and whimper.

Harry presses a kiss at the base of his spine, nuzzles there for a moment as he slips a second slick finger into Nick’s arse. “Then how long’s it been since someone did this to you?”

He knows the answer, treacherous child, just like Nick knows they don’t need a condom. “March, wasn’t it? Before you fled the country and left me a broken husk of my former self.”

“Hey,” says Harry, hurt. “I went on tour. I couldn’t help it. You could have come to visit me. Anytime.” He bites the lobe of Nick’s ear in an unfair way. “I would have fucked you all over North America.”

“Yeah, I’m sure the BBC would have loved that,” Nick replies. Harry twists a third hasty finger into him, and Nick feels the tingle of pleasure straight down to his toes. "Sorry for skiving off work, big bosses, just needed to worship some teenager's cock for a bit."

“We’re culturally relevant,” pants Harry, worked up and already too close. Nick can feel him shaking, the wet tip of Harry’s dick skating over the back of his thigh. “Pop music sensation. Speaking for youth.”

“You’re just saying random words now,” says Nick, straining back against him.

“I wish you had come,” Harry says, breathless. “Wanted you so much.”

“About to come now,” Nick replies, dipping his head down, sunburnt skin pulling across his shoulders. Harry’s fingers curl mercilessly into him, tugging, stretching out his rim and pressing roughly into his prostate, a shock that makes him gasp and arch back. “Now,” he repeats insistently, because he’s still above begging, but he needs it almost as much as Harry does.

Harry’s eager, trembling and uncoordinated as he fits himself over Nick’s back, hips slotting into place so his dick slaps against Nick’s arsehole. He ruts into the slick of Nick’s crack for a moment before he remembers what he’s there for and guides himself into Nick with a stutter of his hips. He’s suddenly in deep, taking up so much space, opening Nick up even further on the girth of his dick. It’s unfair that Harry is hung on top of all his other gifts and talents, but he’s learning how to use it still, how to work his dick into Nick so it feels the best it possibly can. Harry’s next breath is a sharp sob against the back of Nick’s neck, and Nick’s eyes close as he takes Harry in. “Nick,” says Harry, with a plaintive kiss to his shoulder blade. His strong hands fold around Nick’s hips, and the flat of his belly smacks into Nick’s arse as he sinks all the way in.

Harry fucks him hard and as slowly as he can, palming at Nick’s dick before taking it fully in his hand. He gasps and whimpers against Nick’s back, and it’s so much better hearing him like this than it ever could be on the phone, the wet gust of Harry’s breath heavy against his skin. Neither of them is in any state to make it last, and Nick rocks back into Harry, chasing the tight curl of pleasure in his balls. He’s not been fucked in nearly six months, and the head of Harry’s cock is rubbing him just right at the moment, working him up, making his dick swell hard again.

“I’m,” says Harry. “Oh god, can I… Can I come inside you?”

Normally Nick’s a bit squeamish about that, the thought of Harry’s come dribbling down his arsecrack more gross than hot, but Harry sounds as desperate as he feels, so he gives a curt little nod. Harry’s hips surge forward like that was all he needed, and the pulse of his cock deep in Nick’s arse is unexpectedly satisfying, Harry’s come marking him up, slipping out when Harry sits back, his fingers still working Nick’s cock, precome easing the glide. Harry’s fingers are clumsy, but they do the job, tugging Nick over the edge, making a mess of the sheet beneath.

“Needed that,” Harry says, and it might be hours later for all Nick knows, the head of Harry’s soft cock slipping out of him so he can go for a flannel from the bathroom. He wipes Nick down a bit, then tries to bring him in for a cuddle, but Nick groans as Harry’s fringe brushes his shoulder.

“Be the little spoon, love,” Nick says, settling onto his side and holding out a hand. Harry comes easily, settling back against Nick’s chest, and Nick wraps an arm around his waist to keep him. He feels out Harry’s new six-pack, murmurs appreciatively against the back of Harry’s neck. “Looking more grown up every day, aren’t you?” He sucks in his own belly self-consciously, and Harry turns to look at him out of one eye. “Getting proper built.”

“Do you like it?” he asks sincerely.

Nick thumbs his nipple and doesn’t consider a lie; he can see what it means to Harry, Nick liking his changing body. “It’s obscene. Wildly unfair. Want to lick every inch of you, if I’m honest.”

Harry smiles, pleased. “Let’s do that later.”

Nick kisses the corner of his jaw. “Welcome home, popstar.”

Harry snuggles back into him, tucking his hand around Nick’s at his waist. They fall asleep just like that.


End file.
